


forgive me

by Authors_Restraint



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Jon gives Sansa the apology she deserves, Self-Hatred, canon up till 8x04, references events afterward but not in the way it happened on the show, references to kidnapping plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 11:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18992170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authors_Restraint/pseuds/Authors_Restraint
Summary: . . . or don't. I don't deserve it either way.





	forgive me

**Author's Note:**

> wow ANOTHER fic???? i know, it's so shocking coming from my lazy ass but this has been siting on my flash-drive for too long and well, i thought why the fuck not? it's a bit rushed towards the ending but i think it's okay? you guys can tell me.
> 
> as always, fuck d&d and happy reading!

Jon's never felt this sick with himself since the day he left Ygritte.

 

He'd known that it'd been the right thing to do. It hadn't stopped it from hurting any less: the tears in her blue eyes, the pain and anguish splayed upon her face as she'd looked at him, the man who'd loved her, the man whom she loved. The man who betrayed her. Jon hadn't known that he could feel that kind of disgust at his own actions, no matter how well intentioned, and realm-seeking they'd been.

 

He's come close since then. Knocking on his captor's door and pretending to be so besotted with her; letting her let him into her bed; bringing her and her armies and dragons to his home, to his _people_ ; keeping silent as she threatens the woman whose hand has got the firm grip on his heart, and as she sits in his father's chair, his grandfather's chair, _his_ chair and passes judgment on the Kingslayer never mind the fact that Aerys was one of the worst things to happen to Westeros.

 

Gods, not to mention pawing at her like an animal (he'd been  _enjoying_ it may the gods forgive him) only to remember who and  _what_ she was. 

 

And as she'd opened her mouth to beg him not to tell the one woman he's wanted since he'd seen her again in Castle Black, and as she'd dared implied that Sansa couldn't be trusted after all that had been done to her (he is going to  _kill_ Tyrion for sharing such intimate knowledge), tears had come to Jon's eyes and a lump had formed in his throat when he realized that he'd never be free.

 

He'd have to wed her, bed her, be her supplicant, her sychophant, her bitch and her general until the Gods took him from the world because Daenerys Targaryen considered him to be hers and no one else's (he can't even belong to his  _family_ for fuck's sake, not that he'd ever belonged in the first place – calling himself a Stark bastard hadn't made him anymore of a Stark, and it does even less now for he's not even  _that_ anymore) and he couldn't ever be able to let her know that that was  _never_ the case because he'd given himself away a long time ago.

 

Since she'd thrown her frail and tired body into his arms and sighed so dreamily and happily because she'd known that he would look after her, to be exact.

 

Seeing Sansa and Arya's twin looks of betrayal as he took the queen's side, trying to get them to understand that their words were dangerous all the while knowing how much of a fool he'd looked and sounded . . .

 

Gods it's enough to drive a man to madness.

 

It would be no more than he deserves, Jon thinks. Not after what he's done. He looks down at his hands to avoid her cool Tully blue and in his eyes, sees the blood that had stained them. The small body that had once writhed beneath his in ecstasy even though it had made him sick.

 

He hadn't wanted to kill her. If he could've given the burden to someone else, Jon is brave enough to admit that he would've. Kinslayers are cursed, they say. Jon is exceptionally lucky not to have only killed his aunt, but killed the aunt who was in love with him, however skewed her understanding of the notion was. He's both sorry and he's not. He wonders if this is how Jaime feels.

 

Clenching his fists and swallowing hard, he meets Sansa's eyes. She's staring at him, her face carefully blank and her hands are clasped demurely in front of her. She's wearing a light cloak over an even lighter dress and the evening sun turns the tips of her auburn hair to flames.

 

_Kissed by fire._

 

Gods, how he's failed her. That she even entertains his presence now is more than he deserves.

 

“I owe you an apology,” he begins, his voice low and solemn.

 

“For what?” her voice is as blank as her face.

 

“Everything.” Jon lets out a bitter chuckle and clenches and unclenches his fist. “Gods, everything. For leaving, for bringing her into our home, for bending the knee-”

 

“Jon-” he holds up a hand and her mouth closes. “Please. Let me say this. I'm sorry for leaving you with so many responsibilities while I . . . Gods, while I galavanted with her. You ran the North perfectly, you _do_ run the North perfectly and I should've told you. I should've thanked you. I should've told you how grateful I was, how grateful I _am_ for it. I should've told you everything and I'm _so_ sorry that I didn't.”

 

His throat feels heavy and his eyes burn but he'll push through, damn it. She deserves this, fuck his tears.

 

“I'm sorry for putting you in a position where you had to pander to her, and for being so cold to you and Arya.”

 

Jon takes a breath and licks the salt from his lips. He's crying, he realizes. “And most importantly, I'm sorry for leaving you alone and unprotected. I should've made Ghost stay with you.  _I_ should've stayed with you. Gods, if I'd been there-”

 

“Cersei would've gotten her hands on _two_ Stark prisoners. What happened was _not_ your fault.”

 

He wishes that that could make him feel better but it doesn't. “I promised to protect you and I didn't.”

 

“No one can protect anyone, Jon.” Sansa sighs and wrings her fingers together. “Besides, I don't... I don't begrudge you. You were needed elsewhere.”

 

“I shouldn't have been.”

 

“Well, there's hardly anything you can do about it now, is there?” she snaps finally. Jon steps back but keeps her gaze. He deserves that.

 

Sansa sighs heavily and drops her head. “I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.”

 

Jon shakes his head and wipes his eyes. “No it wasn't. You're right.”

 

There is a tense silence that reigns between them, broken only by the loud waves crashing upon Dragonstone's shore. They've been there some four days. Four days since the majority of King's Landing was destroyed. Four days since Cersei Lannister had choked to death by poison. Sansa's hands. Four days since Daenerys Targaryen's body had been buried beneath the dirt of Dragonstone's lands, a gaping wound within her stomach. Jon's hands.

 

He shuts his eyes against the sounds of her cries and whimpers.

 

“ _Jon?” she'd choked as she'd slumped into his arms._

 

He'd held her as she died, a courtesy to the woman who was the last of his kin. A woman who had loved him as he hated her. A woman whom he'd wished he'd never met.

 

It was the honourable thing to do. If you have to take a life, you owe it to the man (woman) to look into their eyes. Father's ( _not his father_ ) words had rung true even then.  _Don't look away._

 

“ _You . . b-bet . . . trayed . . . m-me,” she'd coughed._

 

For the Realm.

 

_For the Watch_ . _Three knives. He never felt the fourth, only the cold..._

 

For Sansa.

 

She'd been opening her mouth to say the word which haunted him in his dreams ever since he'd learnt of its existence, and how dangerous it was. They'd been above ground and he'd rushed to meet her as she stood atop one of the stone buildings. His heart had been in his throat because gods, Sansa was in the Capitol.

 

Dany hadn't listened. She'd flown off on Drogon's back and Jon feels sick even more because he'd come oh so very close to losing Sansa not by Cersei's hands, but by Dany's. A woman could only be provoked by another woman's presence in her man's life for so long.

 

Jon remembers rage and hate. He remembers it well as he'd slaughtered Unsullied, Dothraki and Golden Company as he'd raced his way to the Red Keep. Everything else is a blur. He remembers slaying his aunt in the throne room just as she was about to touch the blasted Iron Throne.

 

He remembers the smoke, and the scent of burning flesh (there were so many bodies,  _so many bodies_ ) permeating the air. His aunt had had massacred nearly half the population of the smallfolk in her rage. And for what? What was the point of ruling if there were no people to rule over?

 

He remembers the absolute disgust and abhorrence he'd felt as he'd stared at her back. She burnt the nearly half the world, may have burnt  _Sansa_ (gods, he hadn't found her yet and the idea that she could be amongst one of the bodies had shaken him) all for that blasted iron chair.

 

His sword hand shook with the depth of his rage.  _One, two, thr-_

 

He remembers all his hate and rage evaporating the moment she'd turned those wide violet eyes of hers, his father's eyes, on him in confusion at the blood seeping through her dress.

 

He'd hated her but felt guilt and remorse at her death for there was no honour in it. She'd been unarmed. And he'd killed her.

 

Still, he didn't betray her.

 

He couldn't have.

 

For he was never loyal to her in the first place.

 

“Jon,” Sansa's voice sounds far away.

 

He looks up and she watches him, concerned. He gives her an approximation of a smile. “I'm alright.”

 

She blinks slowly then twitches her lips. She doesn't believe him. He prays she doesn't ask again because it will only make him feel worse.

 

What right does he have for this woman to give a damn about him? What _right?_ What has he done to deserve to have  _anyone_ care about him?

 

All the things he's done . . . All in thte nake of protecting his home, his family. All in the name of protecting  _her_ . All the things he's done that have only caused further pain and destruction.

 

He kept Dany from the North, but doomed the people of King's Landing.

 

He can still hear the screams, Drogon's screech, the  _boom_ of the wildfire being set off . . .  _His fault._

 

_No_ , Jon thinks. He doesn't deserve any of it at all.

 

“What happens now?” Sansa asks.

 

Jon shrugs his shoulders. “I don't know.”

 

She looks at him, blue eyes flickering over his face. Jon wonders what she sees. “Daenerys is dead. You can take the the Throne. You're the rightful heir.”

 

He laughs bitterly. “Yes, a queenslayer, kinslayer, and the man who doomed the people of King's Landing. What a great king I'll be.”

 

“That's not your fault,” she snaps. She says it as if what he's said is the single most insulting thing she's ever heard.

 

“Sansa-”

 

“ _No._ You listen to me, Jon Snow. What happened was because of _her_. _She_ burnt down the Red Keep. _She_ set off the wildfire. _She_ was the one who burnt thousands of innocent people. _She_ was the one who destroyed the city. _She_ did this. _Not_ you.”

 

He doesn't know what to say to her impassioned defense. Why does she have faith in him still? Why does she trust him still?

 

Fucking hell, why does she still  _care_ ?

 

Jon doesn't understand. He doesn't.

 

“I tried,” he rasps, voice thick. He's said it before but he needs her to know. As much as possible, he needs her to know. It's all coming out anyway, as it should. He's kept this in for too long.

 

“I tried to appease her. I did evrything I could. I did whatever she asked, gave her whatever she wanted whenever she wanted it,” images of himself in her bed come to him and he swallows the bile building in the back of his throat, “even though it made me _sick_ , tried to calm her down . . . I did everything I could to protect our hime from her but doomed the people of the Capitol. I tried and I still failed. Gods, Sansa you have no idea how much I've-”

 

“Shh,” she coos, unfailingly gentle. She crosses the distance between them and cups his cheek and this is all wrong. She shouldn't be comforting him. Her touch is too soft. Too understanding.

 

Too  _loving_ .

 

“I know. I _know_ , Jon. I just wish you had told me.”

 

“I wish it too.”

 

“You made me feel powerless in my own home, Jon.” Her voice is soft but the hurt in it is more painful than the seven knives which took his life. 

 

He gasps softly and tries not to choke on his own breath. He knows. He  _knows._

 

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Sansa. Gods, I'm _so_ sorry.”

 

“I'm sorry too.”

 

He lifts wet eyes to her. “For what?” What could there possibly be for her to be sorry about?

 

“For telling your secret. You made me swear not to tell and I-”

 

“Don't. Don't apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

 

Her lips part, but then close. She nods her head in acquiescence. She's done nothing wrong. It's him who's the fuckup.

 

“The past is gone for good then, Jon,” she says after another short silence. He only looks at her, his eyes burning from his shed tears. “We can spend all our time mourning its departure, or prepare for the future. I know which one I want to do.”

 

“I wish it were that simple.”

 

“So do I but if we spend all our time fixating on things we can't change then how will we get anything done?”

 

Jon gives a tired smile that he doesn't fully feel. “Why are you always so wise?”

 

She blushes faintly and ducks her head down. She looks so  _young_ to him then.

 

_Gods, I love you._

 

They aren't words he'll ever say aloud but he'll keep them in his wretched heart where they belong. She deserves better than him and Jon won't saddle her with himself; a sorry waste of existence. She deserves better than that.

 

She might never fully trust him again, but Jon thinks that's alright.

 

_Forgive me._

 

_. . . or don't. I don't deserve it either way._

 

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out on tumblr @mycrazyfangirl21


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